


Eternally Ephemeral

by EmeraldSage



Series: The Holiday Collection [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Crimean War, England's Still Mad at America, Flashbacks, For the most part, France Tries to Keep it Peaceful, Historical Hetalia, Implied Relationship, M/M, Mild Profanity, Parental Fury, RusAmeHoliday, RusAmeHolidayPrompt, The Whole Thing's Practically a Flashback, now that i think about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 06:26:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8738275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldSage/pseuds/EmeraldSage
Summary: RusAme Prompt #3: FrostThe chilling of the weather brings out jackets, snow boots, and Christmas lights. But for one nation, it also brings out the frost, which bore with it so many memories.A bit of Historical Hetalia :) Enjoy!





	

            This weather was being entirely too bipolar.

            He wondered if it was wrong to feel justifiably outraged at the rapid mood swings the weather in his country seemed to be having. He’d been grounded in DC since the Second Black Friday Incident (not to be confused with the First Black Friday Incident, nor the Cyber Monday Blackout Incident), and pointedly informed that he would be residing in the DC residence until just before the Inauguration. His vice president then told him that if he wanted to maybe be somewhere on the other side of the country when the new…eh…President Elect made his way into office, that would be totally acceptable.

            The president had sighed, but said nothing. The poor guy.

            But either way, he was stuck in his capital – which he loved dearly, don’t get him wrong – during some of the weirdest weather shifts he’d seen in a long time (and that said something). Hell, a few days ago, it had nearly hit 80 degrees! In _November_ , it had been nearly 80 degrees in the Mid-Atlantic. That was almost _unreal_. And now, just a few days into December, and it was hitting below 30! That was a 50 degree shift in temperature!

            He shifted against the window seat he’d been sitting at, tugging the blanket further around him so it covered him effectively, before he scowled when his upper arm came in contact with the frosted window and sent a shiver through his spine. He tugged the blanket up to his chin, snuggling into the warmth it provided, even as he wondered why he was tormenting himself by sitting at the cold windowpane instead of by the warmth of the fireplace. Then, he glanced at the frost patterns forming on his chilled window, and felt his expression soften and his insides melt in a gentle warmth that he hadn’t felt in quite some times. But then again…good memories would do that to you.

            He sighed, tilting his head backwards until it the back of his crown rested against the little nook’s wall. He could feel the chill of the window radiate outwards, the cold bite of frost that would be gone in the morning, but would reappear in the evening depending on how cold it would be. The pattern would change, then, too. It was never the same; ephemeral and yet, everlasting.

            _“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” a voice said behind him, and he nearly startled. He glanced away from the fascinating patterns mapping themselves out on the sturdy glass windowpanes, and looked over his shoulder at the larger nation who had come to a stop just behind him. He could feel the warmth of the elder nation radiating out wards and he nearly sunk back against him to engulf himself within it. Russian winters were truly quite cold, he had never experienced something quite like it. Valley Forge almost seemed like a distant comparison in his mind, he thought idly, but back then, his men hadn’t had the resources, nor the supplies, to survive a typical Pennsylvania winter, let alone one as bad as it had been that season. Here, in the warmth and comfort of Russia’s Winter Palace, dressed snugly in the warm clothing that had been issued to him specifically for this trip, the chill of death and despair of the Valley seemed to fade in comparison, even though he knew the cold here to be far worse, and far more treacherous to the unwary._

_But his attention, now, turned to the frost patterns that the elder nation was tracing on the windowpane with his leather-gloved left hand. The right hand had come around to settle on his shoulder, the arm pulling him closer to that intoxicating warmth, though he had the presence of mind to maintain the proprietary distance. The twitch of Russia’s lips – the indicator that he’d seen the undue attention to propriety – went unnoticed by him then. The arm, snug around his shoulders, only tightened and drew him closer. This time, it went unprotested._

_“They’re lovely,” he responded softly, smiling as he turned his attention to the original subject of their sudden conversation. “I’ve seen a few at home – most of my country does get colder in the winter, after all – but none quite like these.”_

_The elder nation hummed, “I’ve seen frost patterns form every year, on everything is still long enough to collect the dampness needed for a good frosting. Some of the garden hedges have beautiful patterns inlaid in the greenery. It is entirely natural, which makes it twice as enchanting to see.” There was a slight predatory sharpness in his gaze when he turned it upon the younger nation, but said younger had not noticed – or rather, tried not to notice – it at all. “I could show you some of the patterns come morning,” he offered gregariously, sliding closer as America turned to face him, cheeks pinking when he realized how close the other was, “The gardens are always a lovely sight to see, but in winter, after a snowfall, they are absolutely picturesque.”_

_A shy smile curled on his face, and he nodded his assent, then ignorant of most of the subtleties that passed between them._

_“I’d love to.”_

            He shifted a bit against the window sill, eyes sliding closed. He was still tired, after all. And he probably should get up, to finish off that paperwork, so he didn’t have to do anything tomorrow…. A sigh fell from his lips…

            _Breath crystallized in the air in front of him, and he beamed at the phenomena in excitement. It happened back home as well, but for some reason, it had always made him happy to see his breath in the cold. It was an almost comforting feeling, if he was to be honest._

_Russia’s chuckle was a chest deep rumble, imposing but comforting, especially when he wore the languid beige great coat, cutting an impressive figure in the sunlit gardens. The man came closer, taking in the wonder scrawled across his features. He could see the way the elder nation slid close, the way the man wished to act – he may **act** oblivious, and yes, sometimes he genuinely was, but he hadn’t evolved from a world backwater to a rising imperial power buy being unaware of his atmosphere – and he considered letting him._

_Russia was a handsome man, a powerful nation, and he courted a lot of sympathy and favor amongst his children back home. In all honesty, their relationship had been on the cusp of becoming non-platonic since the day they’d first been introduced; it had been like a match had been lit in his heart, and though the wood would wear away into ashes, the flames it lit would persist as long as someone would nurture them. He had seen the rising interest the other nation had for him; this developing relationship was unsurprising. It would be acceptable, but more than that, he was **curious** , and he was flattered._

_Russia was also the first nation to take interest in him as a **person** , not just a nation. There hadn’t been a time like that since Prussia had sort of adopted him while he’d been over in the Revolutionary War_

_So he moved closer, beaming up at the elder nation – whose gaze had gained the slightest hint of calculation within their depths – knowing full well what it would imply._

_He did want to see where this could go._

_The tour commenced with haste after that as, despite the beauty of the frost and snow it had deposited over night, the cold was still a vicious taskmaster, and reigned supremely in its domain. He was tucked into his own warm, fur-lined jacket – an expense he’d vehemently protested when his President had insisted upon it, but was very grateful for now – with a scarf wrapped snugly around his high collar and the exposed parts of his neck, all the way up to covering the soft, sensitive flesh of his lips from the bite of the chill. A warm cap had settled onto his head, shielding his golden crown of locks from the gusty breeze and the light snow that began half way through their tour. Russia took great pleasure in taking one gloved hand in his own and tracing the unique frost formations on some of the towering hedges, right to the surprisingly warm tree-bark, and all the way over to the cold stone statues._

_It was good fun, too, but the happiness in company was just as nice. It could be lonely, sometimes; being in isolation did take its toll sometimes, and he wondered if George had known what he would sentence him too when he and Alex had written that Farewell Address._

_Suddenly, Russia shivered, one he recognized from experience that had nothing to do with the cold. His gaze sharpened in alertness before they softened in understanding._

_“Are you well?” he inquired softly, and the elder nation took a moment to calm himself before nodding his ascent._

_“Da, I am fine,” he winced as he said it, and America bit his lip, because aside from what he had committed to his ally, he could do no more and remain as neutral as he was. “My men are having some difficulties, and the cold makes them more vulnerable.”_

_“Are my medics helping at all?” he asked, and saw the other nation smile warmly – an expression he was well aware was rare enough that he treasured it when it was directed at him – before he straightened._

_“They are wonderful,” he said, taking the hands America had run through his hair in his worry – dislodging the cap slightly – and enclosed them in his own gloved hands. “They are helping tremendously. My people are relieved, and your supplies have been received gratefully.” The younger nation sighed in relief, smiling._

_“I’m glad,” he said softly, “If you need anything more, I’m sure I can convince Beverly to work out something in regards to out trade. We have ships out near the coastal settlements that could make a few more trips up north. I know things with the war aren’t going very well right now, but I know the President and the Legislature are sympathetic.”_

_“That you have offered says much,” the elder nation said, pleased, “We can discuss this more at a later hour, perhaps? We did come out to enjoy the gardens; I’m sure business can be put on hold,” he suggested, transitioning smoothly, though a bit obviously to America, who bit his lip to bite back a smile._

_“Of course,” he agreed easily, knowing the subject **would** come up again once they retreated into the palace, “You said there was a bench out in the gardens? Perhaps we can pause there.”_

_“It will be quite frigid,” the elder nation warned, amusement twisting his features, “I doubt you’ll be able to use it.” He scoffed, a smirk curling on his lips._

_“Of course not,” he drawled, “but perhaps it’s patterns might be different from what we’ve seen so far. To my knowledge, the frost patterns take on similar shapes depending on what material they’ve been constructed on. I’m sure a bench of metal might have a pattern of a different composition than one of stone.”_

_The other nation eyed him with some level of surprise, almost asking **you noticed all that** , before he decided against it and offered his arm to lead him towards the bench in question. If his smile was a bit smug, the elder nation didn’t say a word, though he did allow himself sink into the warmth, curling himself against the Russian’s side. The other nation certainly didn’t have a problem with **that** , if the slight aura of smugness emitting from him meant anything._

_They spoke softly for a while, on the way through the garden, words and smiles alike hidden behind their scarves, but eyes warm and mutually interested. They spoke of the war in Crimea, where Russia and his Czar had gone to pursue a warm-water port, among other things, to increase their resources and trade routes. They spoke of the established commerce company between the two of them, and their renewed sympathies. They spoke of Alaska, though this in hushed tones, and the elder nation revealed softly that the monarchy was looking to sell the North American territory, and the one they were hoping would be open to it was the American government._

_Once the surprise wore off, he admitted softly that he was certainly interested in the territory, but there was some unrest developing into something forebodingly nasty amongst his people, and he likely wouldn’t be able to push such a proposal through Congress anytime soon. The violet-eyed nation recovered rather swiftly from that profound revelation, and received it in the grace and trust in which it was given, promising he would try to keep the land available until he could purchase it. He was rewarded with a beautiful smile._

_Unfortunately, much to both their surprise, a rather unlikely pair interrupted their afternoon in the garden._

_They’d heard the arguing before they saw the two, which was indicative enough regarding who it was that they were about to encounter. The distinct British accent and the perverted laughter from another smooth, silky voice just made it even more obvious._

_The Russian released America’s arm, placing the proper amount of distance between the two of them when they realized there would be an encounter between the four nations, while America tugged down the cap over his hair – which looked quite scandalously rumpled – and tucked his gloved hands into the pocket of his coat as they approached. The younger nation wasn’t really sure he wanted to participate in an encounter with France, and especially not with Great Britain. Particularly since both nations had had a part in raising him, and at the moment, he was supporting Russia in the war all three of them were participating in, despite his status as an official neutral._

* * *

 

_The Empire caught sight of him first, catching the flash of wheat gold amongst the white snow, before realizing he recognized the blue eyes watching him warily from the corner of his eye. He turned abruptly, breaking off the argument he was having with the Frenchman, just to ascertain that he was actually seeing the younger nation, and not hallucinating things. Though when he heard the irritating French nation go quiet in surprise, he assumed he was **not** hallucinating, and the America was actually **here** , in Russia’s Winter Palace, standing right next to Russia, watching them both carefully, but curiously._

_And for a moment, the Island Empire was at a loss of words._

_Oh, how his child had grown!_

_He stood only a little taller than the last time the Empire had seen his former colony, his precious charge, but had aged a few years from his prior fourteen-year-old appearance. Now, looking along the lines of seventeen, he’d slimmed, and the baby fat on his face appeared to have thinned out to reveal the gentle slope of his cheeks and the curved smile that seemed so natural on his boy. There were slight shadows in his eyes – from wars and unrest, he presumed – but he seemed overall content, almost happy, before the wariness seemed to appear in sky-blue eyes. And England remembered where they were, and with **whom** his precious child had walked with._

_He straightened, noticing how the wariness in blue eyes increased as he did so, and turned his glare pointedly at Russia._

_“And what’s this, then?” he sneered, taking careful note of how America has subtly stepped back, just a tad, but all the same, closer to the violet-eyed nation instead of away. His own eyes darkened in response, “Have your formalities vanished, Russia, my envoy has been waiting for an escort to the palace for hours. It was only sheer chance we managed to find our way here unescorted, in time for the meeting. How careless.” Violet eyes darkened at the blatant insult, but the smile he drew forward was nothing short of malicious. He felt the frog recoil behind him, but he stood his ground (while concealing a shiver or two); he’d worn worse expressions himself._

_“Ah,” the other nation said, waving away the insult as if it was nothing, despite his expression reading quite the contrary, “I’m afraid we were not informed that your diplomats would be visiting. We were also quite uniformed about **your** arrival.” Here, Russia’s grin turned slightly victorious, and England caught the subtle flick of violet eyes to the golden-haired nation slightly to the right of him, “I’m currently entertaining other guests, at the moment. I have no intention of interrupting you.” He gestured to where he and France had been arguing, and his eyes narrowed._

_“Oh, but the interruption was welcome,_ **_Russie_ ** _,” France interrupted, “and,_ **_cher Amérique,_ ** _you have grown._ **_Quelle surprise_ ** _; we were not expecting **you** here, in Russia’s home.” There was a sly smile on the Frenchman’s face, and his eyes flickered between the two nations opposite them, alight with some sort of knowledge that made England freeze._

_“We’re negotiating our trade deals,” the young nation said softly, almost casually, as if it meant nothing to the two nations who stiffened at the implications. “I’m here to see to that the humanitarian aid gets properly dispersed to the front lines before I return home, and Washington will send someone to take my place.”_

_“Humanitarian **Aid**?” England asked incredulously, because surely that couldn’t mean what he thought it did._

_“Do you have a problem with it?” the boy asked, one brow rose almost sarcastically. **It’s not like you could do anything if you did** , that look said to him, and England grit his teeth as he forced back the urge to punish his bratty child. He may be the boy’s father, but they were nations, and America was fully independent; any punishment had to be private, and certainly not with the audience they had. Lord knew the rest of the world would know the moment France did, and Russia looked like he’d cheerfully bludgeon him to death if he took one step closer to the bratty nation than said nation would allow._

_And on top of his forceful restraint, Francis interceded before he could unleash the verbal torrent of chastisement he’d saved up. How **dare** his child betray him in such a way – siding with his enemies!_

_Only the glint of stubborn blue told him to try and give him hell for his actions; he was waiting for them. Nothing he said would change a thing._

_Russia interceded shortly after France had, glancing up to the sky before claiming they’d had a meeting they needed to get to, wishing them well, before escorting – he blinked and did a double take, but no, he hadn’t been mistaken – actually **escorting** England’s golden child back towards the palace, standing far to close to be mistaken for anything platonic. He felt the red tint his sight as his vision tunneled on the two nations, but France placed a hand on his shoulder, firm enough that he couldn’t shake it off immediately, so he turned to scowl at the other man. He was faced with France’s serious look._

_“Why did you stop me?” he practically hissed, the venom in his tone practically dripping from his words. The Frenchman gestured at the retreating pair, eyes contemplative._

_“Did you not see the way_ **_Russie_ ** _was watching_ **_Amérique_ ** _?” he inquired, “He would’ve gutted you where you stood if you tried anything.”_

_“I would’ve like to see him try,” he snorted. “He’s using my boy,” his eyes darkened as he said it aloud, “and the brat is **letting him**.” Francis snorted, giving him a look._

_“You call yourself observant,” he said airily, before returning to seriousness at the glare England leveled at him, “it is a recent development. **Very** recent, if I’m not mistaken,” he mused. “Most likely, it only began within the last week or so. They’re comfortable with each other, but they haven’t gone very far. Alfred must be considering his options very carefully, if he has waited so long.” England ignored the Frenchman’s use of America’s human name to address the one thing that bothered him._

_“Waited?” he said, almost dreading what the answer was to be, “What the bloody hell do you mean by that?” The Frenchman gave him another look, questioning his observational skills, and he seethed silently, knowing he couldn’t kick the shit out of the other because he had the information he needed._

_“Russia has been very obvious with his attentions towards America,” he said bluntly, not even slipping his French in to mess with the island, “It is a secret for those who could not tell, but from the first meeting, it was obvious that the two of them are quite compatible, despite all those claiming the contrary. Their closeness now means Alfred has finally decided on how to receive Ivan’s attention.” A smile curled on his lips, just shy of wicked, and England felt a slight foreboding build in his heart, “He’s accepted.”_

_Halfway back to the palace, America and Russia both started when they heard England scream bloody murder, “HE BLOODY WELL BETTER HAVE NOT!!!” Russia caught the startled teenage nation when his former guardian’s voice caused him to slip on the ice lingering on the cobbled pathway, and they glanced at each other, utterly bewildered._

* * *

 

            A short burst of heat from nearby shook him out of the light slumber he’d drifted into, memories fading into dazed recollection as he shivered in the renewed cold the quick burst of heat had brought on. He stood from the windowsill, eyeing the newly forming frost patterns with some degree of fondness, before moving in the direction of the stairs. He hit the lights, yawning as he did so, leaving no illumination in the living room, save the dim, warm glow of the lights decorating his Christmas tree as he made his way to his warm, comfy bed for a good night’s sleep.

            He still had to go into work tomorrow, after all.

            He was out as soon as he curled the warm quilt around him, cocooning himself in the soft fabric. So it wasn’t surprising that he didn’t hear the soft creak coming from downstairs.

            The figure who’d slipped in through the very window America had watching earlier that evening, smiled as they took in the dimly lit living room and the decorated Christmas tree. They strode towards the gently lit tree, tugging at an open bough as they knelt before it, removing a small gleaming frost patterned ornament from within the folds of a beige coat. Hanging it on the bough, the figure debated heading up the stairs to indulge in his own personal desires, or returning the next day to see what the young nation made of the new addition – and the figure knew very well that said young nation _would_ notice it.

            In the end, the temptation had been as strong as it was the day they’d first met, and the figure had been entranced by the embodiment of golden sunshine and summer skies come to visit their winter world. Sturdy boots put pressure on the creaking floorboards on their progress up the stairs, and the figure lightened his steps to keep his ascent as silent as possible. Despite being a heavy sleeper, America had very keen ears.

            But there they were, now.

            The coat and most of the clothing was shed, and Russia tugged the edge of the quilt cocoon that America had turned himself into, rolling it out to reveal the still-sleeping nation. He settled himself into the comfort of the bed, watching in mild amusement as America attached himself to the heat source that had suddenly appeared in his bed and curled up against him. It would be twice as entertaining in the morning, when America realized who was in his bed, and how he’d woken up.

            Arm secured around his lover’s waist with warmth settling into his body, he relaxed into the bed, allowing sleep to take him as his fingers slipped just beneath America’s track pants to trace frost patterns onto the younger nation’s bare skin.

* * *

 **OMAKE** : 

            “ _Mon Dieu, Angleterre,_ ” the Frenchman said irritably, as he was dragged into a bush, “Have you nothing better to do than to spy on _Amérique_?”

            “Shut up, frog,” the island nation scowled, “Russia bought a ticket into Dulles airport last night, he should’ve arrived an hour ago. I doubt America knows anything about it, since he’s just headed to sleep. Something’s fishy about this…”

            “Anything about _Russie_ and _Amérique_ together is suspicious to you,” the elder nation grumbled, disgruntled.

            England glanced back, almost dismissively, before opening his mouth to make a comment, only to be interrupted by a creak coming from the direction of America’s home. They both whipped around to face the side of the house just in time to catch a certain nation slipping the window open and climbing through it – surprisingly limber for his size, the Frenchman thought appreciatively.

            Then he had to focus all his attention on the angry Englishman he was attempting to restrain from mauling the nation they’d just seen break into America’s home.

            If all that Russia had ever done to America was break into his home, France would willingly stop seducing the irate nation he was currently restraining. But, as he _was_ France, he knew better than that.

            He had been the one to see their relationship emerge all those years ago, after all.

            “LET GO OF ME, DAMN IT FRANCE!” the verdant-eyed nation hollered at him, making no pretense of keeping silent, “HE’S VIOLATING MY BABY!”

            “ _Dieu_ , what did I do to deserve this?” he asked the night sky, and he swore the stars twinkled at him mischievously.

            _Do you even have to ask?_

**Author's Note:**

> The Crimean War ran from October of 1853 to March of 1856, and the US sent supplies and humanitarian aid to their Russian allies. 1854 was a particularly important year in terms of the relationship - both commercial and political - that the Russian Empire and the United States shared. In the Crimean War, the US supported Russia over both France and Great Britain, and in 1856, offered to mediate the peace. Despite their shipment of supplies and the business they kept with Russia, they had remained mostly neutral during the War.
> 
> Now take that, and think Hetalia. Doesn't that make for an interesting story?  
> The historical part of the story is mostly set in Winter of 1854-55, when it would've been more likely that the US would've sent an ambassador or someone to broker the trade deals and the alliance. I don't know if Britain or France did the same, but hey, creative license. Also, if you know more about the Crimean War, or if some of the facts in the note are wrong (because in the actual fic, something's gonna get messed up, though I'm trying to keep it accurate), don't hesitate to message me! I love learning new things!


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